


Interrogation

by mansikka



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Castiel is a Little Shit, Dean is a Little Shit, Embarrassed Dean, Established Relationship, Fluff, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Sam Finds Out, Sam is a Little Shit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-06
Updated: 2016-02-06
Packaged: 2018-05-18 09:56:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5924106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mansikka/pseuds/mansikka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam's recently discovered that there's a little more to Dean and Cas' relationship than the whole rescuing from hell profoundly-bonded thing. And is a little shit about it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Interrogation

“So I have questions,”

 

If there's another sentence out there that could make Dean's blood curdle and have him ready to run for the hills, he's not heard it yet, and what's more – he doesn't want to.

 

The fact of the matter is, this sentence would never be innocuous, no matter whose mouth it came out of. But here, in this moment, coming out of Sam's mouth, exactly at the moment that's been the first opportunity for them to be alone since... well... The Thing, it's practically paralysing.

 

It's been little more than a day since Dean's admitted that there's a little more to his and Cas' relationship than the whole rescuing from hell profoundly-bonded thing. In fact, although he doesn't like the words _secret, relationship_ , and _serious_ seen together in any sentence structure at all, he's had to get these very words to hold hands and make a kind of sense for Sam that would explain all manner of recent incidents between them.

 

Not that he's in any way ashamed of his relationship with Cas, he thinks quickly to himself and shooting off a little prayer that ye _gods_ he wouldn't say out loud. No, it's not that all. But ever since Sam walked in on them, well. You know... Sam's been a tyrant of inappropriate commenting and knowing looks that have made Dean wonder if all holes in the ground that swallow you up have to be hell-based, or if you can just get a regular-sized one for being embarrassed to death.

 

“So does Cas stay over often? Like... in your room?”

 

Sam's digging. Of course Sam's digging, and technically Dean can't argue that he doesn't have the right to be doing just that.

 

“Of course he does.”

 

“...Where?”

 

Dean clenches his fists, bites down on the sarcasm that is desperate to unleash itself, and breathes deep.

 

“Where do you think? In the bed.”

 

“Huh,” is all Sam offers, but Dean knows that face. He's known it since the first time the brat hid one of his Legos and he knows it right now when the bastard is toying with him to string out answers he really doesn't want to give.

 

Dean's keeping quiet though, as much as he can; what's the point of adding more fuel to the fire he knows Sam's going to unleash on him anyway?

 

Here it comes.

 

“But he doesn’t sleep, right?”

 

Kill me now, Dean thinks to himself and slides a little further down in his seat. “No. He doesn’t sleep.”

 

Seriously. If Sam screws his face up any more to stop that ridiculous grin of his taking over, he’s going to need some serious kind of corrective surgery. “So. When he stays. In your bed. You two...”

 

And Sam’s eyebrows do this taunting little dance that makes Dean want to whimper. He lets out a strangled whine instead, feeling vaguely accomplished by that but knowing in no way is it any better.

 

“C’mon, Sam. You need me to draw you a picture here?” Dean begs, pleading to what he hopes is Sam’s rational side. Surely he doesn’t want to know actual details. Does he?

 

Sam’s smile just widens. “Not a picture. I got quite the view for myself remember?” And Sam winks, actually winks at him. Dean’s throat lets out a little choking sound in protest that Dean feels no control over. “But I kind of need a sense of what we’re talking about here.”

 

“... _Why_ ?”

 

Dean already knows the answer to that. Put simply, Sam is pure evil. But he asks anyway.

 

“Just looking out for my brother,” Sam says, with a butter-wouldn’t-melt smile that looks incredibly lost next to the wicked glint in his eye.

 

“Yeah, right,” Dean manages, roughly running a hand through his hair.

 

“So. Are we talking...what. Is there... kissing?” And Sam’s voice does a Back To The Future move, sounding about thirteen. And teasing.

 

“Yeah,” Dean mumbles, averting his eyes anywhere but at Sam.

 

“And is there... is there hugging, Dean? You know. Of the horizontal kind?” Sam’s voice. How does he do that voice, Dean thinks, the one that makes Dean feel like he’s stood naked in traffic.

 

“Yeah, Sam. We hug. But you’ve seen that yourself so-”

 

“And there’s sex?” Sam’s hand waves to dismiss Dean’s words, but his actual question is the thing that gives Dean an actual slap. Sam’s seen that for himself too, accidentally; that’s how they got to where they are now. So there’s literally no reason for him to be asking him that, other than that he is a bastard and wants to see Dean squirm.

 

“Mmhmm.”

 

Sam leans forward, “I’m sorry, what?” he says, cupping a hand dramatically to his ear, “Having trouble hearing you. Say that again?”

 

Dean takes a long, shaky breath. There’s absolutely no need to be embarrassed about this at all, he reasons. “Yeah. Yeah, Sam. There’s sex.”

 

There’s a lot of sex, he thinks, desperately trying to keep a hold on his thoughts on that. Because it’s all so good. _So_ good. And so distracting. And so-

 

“Are we talking full sex here or-”

 

“Goddamit Sam! What! What do you want from me?” he finally cries out, gripping painfully to the table edge.

 

Sam raises his hands in mock surrender. “Like I said. Just looking out.”

 

“Yeah, right...” Dean says, his tone saying all kinds of things about how he doesn’t believe that for a second.

 

“So after...” and Dean really does whimper this time at the gesture Sam makes to illustrate what he’s saying, “he sticks around for a bit? Stays the night?”

 

Dean nods miserably. How long is this torture going to go on?

 

“A lot, or...?”

 

“Often,” Dean manages to croak out.

 

“I see,” and Sam’s voice is nothing but wicked.

 

Dean just groans out and closes his eyes.

 

“So how often's 'often'?” Sam presses on.

 

And what does Dean say to that? That the honeymoon period where they couldn't keep their hands off of each other when no one else is around hasn't yet ended, and, judging by the way they still go at it, it's not about to fade any time soon?

 

“You know. Pretty often,” he settles for, carefully.

 

“How often's 'pretty often'?”

 

So maybe Dean doesn't want to admit that it's most nights. Maybe Sam doesn't need to know that Dean's way past the point of being able to sleep – at all – when Cas isn't there in the bed with him. But seriously; has Sam never noticed how Dean doesn't sleep – at all – nowadays, when they're in a motel somewhere and Cas is not?

 

Is he being purposely simple, or does he genuinely not know?

 

“You know. Most nights,” he offers in defeat. There's not much point trying to word it any differently.

 

Sam's face immediately bursts into another grin that Dean sees him fighting, and feels himself groan again.

 

“Most nights, huh?” Sam echoes, biting hard down on his lip as though that is the funniest phrase to ever come out of his own mouth.

 

“Yeah, Sam. Most nights, okay?” and Dean's turned defensive, quick as that. He's not ashamed of him and Cas. Not at all. It's purely about the privacy of the thing. Dean has zero complaints about their relationship, and has genuinely never been as happy in his life before. In fact, if he was the kind of guy that liked to brag about his love life, good _lord_ would he have been screaming from the rooftops for the past...however long it's been.

 

It's been a _while_ , he thinks; when did the weeks drift into months and turn into what's got to be over a year?

 

Over a year.

 

Huh.

 

Did Cas expect some kind of anniversary? Dean hadn't even thought about that, and instantly he feels himself shrivel up in worry. He's going to have to ask him, right now. Or at least. As soon as Sam's finished with him.

 

Okay. So maybe he's going to have to ask him much, much later, he thinks, because clearly Sam has more questions.

 

“So,” Dean watches fearfully as Sam gets comfortable in his seat, clearly in for the long haul. “What does Cas do? While you sleep?”

 

“I guess you’d have to ask him that,” Dean replies carefully.

 

“Does he hold-”

 

Shouldn't Cas be here for this too, Dean suddenly realises, mentally cutting off Sam’s words whilst desperately clutching at anything to get him out of dealing with this alone.

 

 _Cas,_ he prays, trying to keep the anxiety from his voice; he doesn't want Cas to worry when there's nothing wrong but his immense embarrassment.

 

Oops. Too late.

 

Cas flaps in, in that panicked kind of way he does when he knows Dean's in trouble. He looks around, tensed like a cat about to pounce, and Dean, well. He doesn't _mean_ to be turned on by the image of Cas ready for anything. He can't _help_ it if every single time Cas has that serious face on, his mouth dries and his dick twitches and he generally turns into a one tracked minded ...monster. That's not his fault, at all.

 

When Cas is sure that there is no imminent danger, he relaxes, and the lust Dean is feeling is joined by affection. Especially when Cas' eyes fall to his and his face splits into a smile, only for him.

 

Dean's reaction is instant, grinning back like an idiot and forgetting all about the interrogation he's been receiving from Sam.

 

Last night, after The Incident, Cas had been very gentle with him, taking him very, very slowly and whispering nothing but reassurances and affection to him, and worshipping every inch of his skin. Dean loves it when he does that. But thoughts like that are just going to get him distracted...

 

Cas had no problem with Sam knowing or not knowing about them, but he'd expected it to be difficult for Dean. And Dean had been very, very clear about his thoughts on the matter, worshipping Cas back with as much reverence as he had shown him. Dean’s only complaint about Sam, or anyone knowing, was that it was just their business, and no one else's. As he’d demonstrated. Multiple times.

 

But that was in the safety of Last Night. What would happen Now, in front of Sam?

 

Cas answers that question in the simplest of ways. Nudging in between where Sam and Dean are sitting at the table, he leans down, pressing a soft, audible kiss on Dean's mouth while gently cupping his fingers around the back of Dean's head.

 

“Hello, Dean,” he mutters against his lips, not pulling back more than a couple of inches.

 

Dean's face hurts from the spread of his smile. “Hey, Cas.”

 

Sam makes a choking, squeaking kind of noise behind them, and very, very slowly, Cas turns his head, still crouching down a little beside Dean.

 

“Sam,” he nods, then straightens up, moving around the table whilst trailing a hand along Dean’s shoulders as he walks behind him. He pulls out a chair and sits beside Dean, looping his fingers through Dean's under the table.

 

With that serious face on again that immediately has Dean breathing heavily, and chanting to himself to keep it together, Cas expectantly looks over at Sam. “I came as soon as I could.”

 

Sam's eyes grew wide and he darts a look over at Dean for an explanation.

 

“I felt Dean's...discomfort,” Cas answers, continuing to stare.

 

Sam looks many shades of caught out; Dean _loves_ that Cas can do that to him so easily.

 

“Uh...um...” Sam stutters out, suddenly not looking so smug at all.

 

Cas narrows his eyes at him, tilts his head, then relaxes his expression in understanding.

 

“I believe you have questions, Sam.”

 

Ah, that's where the smug grin went. It's found its way over to plaster itself all over Dean's face.

 

Dean carries on staring at Sam, very proud to be a part of the tag team that is so effortlessly making Sam squirm in front of them.

 

“No... no questions, really,” Sam begins, carefully, trying but failing to escape Cas' gaze.

 

“Questions are to be expected, Sam. You were not aware that your brother and I were having sex. I apologise that you had to find out so...visually,”

 

Dean snorts beside him, squeezing Cas' hand in silent thanks. Cas squeezes back, not breaking eye contact with Sam for a second.

 

“Hey,” Dean adds after a beat, nudging his arm against Cas' and shooting him a fake-wounded look. “I'd like to think it's a bit more than us just 'having sex' after all this time, right?”

 

Cas' face twists into a smile. “Of course. I was keeping it simple for Sam. I presumed he would be having difficulty understanding.”

 

Sam's eyebrows jut up even higher.

 

“Sam,” Cas prompts, demanding some kind of reply.

 

“I...I just...I...no. No questions, Cas. Pretty sure I got all I need to know.”

 

“Are you certain? I am more than happy to explain to you-”

 

“No!” Sam says, shaking his head from side to side. “No, I'm good, thanks.”

 

And Cas frowns at him. “If you are certain. I would have no hesitation telling you about-”

 

“No, no no no, it's okay, Cas,” Sam stutters out, quickly getting to his feet. “It's good.”

 

“ _Sure_ , Sammy?” And Dean can't keep the triumphant tone from his voice.

 

Sam's face speaks of the agony that is this denied opportunity to make Dean's life hell. But he knows he's been beat. For now, at least. “Yeah, Dean. I'm _sure_ .”

 

“If you should have any questions in the future,-”

 

“Got it, Cas, thanks. I'll...I'll keep that in mind.” Sam raises a hand to stop Cas from continuing.

 

Sam turns to head out of the room, then spins back, a slightly worried look on his face. “I mean. I'm happy for you. I'm happy for you both. You know that, right?” He might be playing the annoying little shit card, but he really, really is happy for them. He doesn't want them to think otherwise.

 

Dean and Cas smile at him as one, and Sam nods, leaving as quickly as he can, tripping over his own feet in his hurry to escape.

 

There's a moment of silence following his exit, and then Cas is guiding Dean to straddle and sit in his lap. “So,” he begins, followed by a kiss.

 

“So,” Dean echoes, kissing him back.

 

“I trust that things are...fine? Between you and Sam?”

 

Dean runs his hands appreciatively up Cas' sides smirking against his lips. “Mmhmm.”

 

“Good.”

 

“Your timing is impeccable, Cas.”

 

Cas pulls back a little and there's a twinkle in his eye that says he enjoyed making Sam flustered just as much as Dean had. That he knew exactly what he was doing. “I know,” he says simply, lightly resting his fingers on Dean's face and leaning up to kiss him again.

 

“I was thinking,” Dean started a little later, sighing as Cas adjusted himself to sit more comfortably in a deliberate way that felt very, very good beneath Dean. “We never celebrated. An anniversary.”

 

Cas hums, keeping up a trail of kisses over Dean's face and down his neck as he thinks about that.

 

“Do you want to, Dean?”

 

Dean shrugs to show indifference, but some part of him actually really likes the idea. It might be nice to have some kind of normal marker, some excuse for alone time with Cas that he doesn't have to justify to anyone. Not that he needs to do that anyway, really, he thinks then, realising he's actually very relieved it's out in the open and Sam knows all about it. So he'll do whatever Cas wants to do, he thinks to himself.

 

Cas narrows his eyes at him then smiles; he’s onto him. He’s all too aware of all the things Dean does just because Cas has suggested them, or shown preference for them in some way.

 

“Well,” he reasons, sliding his hands down Dean's chest and lightly pressing his thumb against Dean's length through his jeans, “do we know the date?”

 

“I might,” Dean says, hesitating; perhaps because of how Cas' hand is distracting him, and perhaps because he doesn't want to admit that he's committed a date to memory. Even though he's been so distracted by actually being _with_ Cas that he's temporarily forgotten it.

 

Cas smiles against his lips. “Well. I can think of something we can do whilst you try to remember the date, Dean. I may even be able to offer you something of a prompt,”

 

Dean groans lightly, grinding himself down a little to feel Cas against him. “I'm listening...”

 


End file.
